Living Souls
by Dmitry Bykov
Alma Books; Hardback;
439 pages; Price £17.99
ISBN 9781846880988

Gordon Weetman

The writer Dmitry Bykov is something of a media sensation in his native Russia, where he has published, according to his cover profile, ‘five novels … two collections of short stories, two volumes of essays and eight collections of poetry’ as well as an acclaimed biography of Pasternak. In addition to his literary output, Bykov straddles the third estate with Murdoch-like versatility, writing for various print publications as well as hosting a weekly radio show and appearing regularly on Russian television.

In view of this, it seems surprising that Bykov’s amiable, moustached face should remain virtually unknown abroad (though one wonders how many Muscovites have heard of Stephen Fry). His latest novel Living Souls goes some way towards illustrating the reasons for this disparity.

Living Souls is a 400-plus page ’state of the nation’ epic set in a dystopian near-future. The English title, which nods to Gogol, was a publisher’s addition: Bykov originally called his novel Zh.D, which translates roughly as ‘The Yds’. Bykov himself has Jewish roots, so the slur may be more complex than it seems, but it is not hard to see why his UK publishers felt the need to change it to something more PC. Nevertheless, the original title retains a certain thematic resonance, since Bykov’s is a Russia riven by ethnic strife.

The country has split into warring halves. The north, including Moscow, is controlled by the Varangians – an extreme right-wing cult whose members worship Odin and claim to be descended from early Nordic settlers of Russia. The south, on the other hand, is populated by Jewish exiles who have resurrected the ancient Khazar Khaganate – an empire centred on the Caucasus.

Bykov uses these two factions to represent conflicting impulses in the cultural life of modern Russia. The Khazars are classic metropolitan liberals, whilst it is hard not to see in the Varangians’ obsessive power-worship a not-so-distant echo of Putinism. If approached with a certain lightness of touch, this material could have easily been the basis for a successful political farce. However, Bykov often seems gifted with a sort of reverse Midas faculty, turning potential gold into lead.

To be fair, some of the humour bases itself on cultural in-jokes which do not easily make sense to the casual Western reader. But Bykov also has failings as a novelist. Too much of Living Souls is dominated by long passages of exposition, and certain sections of the book generate loudly clunking mechanical noises. For example, the line ‘By the way, Everstein, I keep meaning to ask you to tell me about the Yds’ triggers a turgid and disposable ten-page lecture on the history of Russian Jewry. This novel could have benefited from intensive cutting.

This is the central problem with Living Souls: the author has allowed himself to become overly attached to the minutiae of the world he has created. Bykov’s dystopia feels intricately, even lovingly imagined. The downside to all this attention to detail, however, is that the author can’t bear to leave anything out. It is the sci-fi equivalent of that old chestnut which plagues historical novelists – the impulse to over-use one’s research. At one point a character declares that ‘there were four main versions of the origins of the Russian state – the Khazar, the Russian, the Norse (or Varangian) versions, and the true native one.’ Bykov then goes on to explore each of these foundation myths in depth. Again, this is the kind of place where editors come in handy.

There are some nice lines in Living Souls, and some sharp political observations. For example, Bykov remarks about halfway through that ‘the main purpose of every Russian government, whatever its character or duration, had been to crush its citizens’. Unfortunately, such sardonic gems are few and far between. All too often, Bykov’s carefully weighted ironies descend into a rant, and his use of free indirect narration coupled with a cynical, jaded tone makes it difficult to tell the numerous characters apart. Occasionally the author exhibits a promising ability to shock – for example when the thoughts of his poet Volokhov begin to dwell increasingly on the Protocols of the Elders of Zion – but ultimately the satire fails to deliver.

Living Souls is a sprawling, shapeless book – much like the nation it aims to chronicle. Again, like the new Russia, there does not seem to be much holding it together. Bykov’s novel may engage readers with an established interest in Russia as a country. However, as a literary artefact, Living Souls could easily have benefited from a more Stalinist, top-down approach to form.